


The Fallen

by jaestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaestiel/pseuds/jaestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel fell from Heaven and he hasn't been home in over a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fallen

“No, Cas,” Dean whispered in a mixture of despair and disappointment as he tightened his grip on his younger brother Sam. Sam breathed heavily, making an effort to keep his head up to watch the sky.

Angels were falling. Not just one angel, all of the angels were falling headfirst onto the earth, their big, mighty wings on fire as they were ripped from their bodies.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and then back to their friend’s family burning in the sky, wondering _Is Cas there? Are we watching Cas fall and become a goddamn human?_ They both sighed at the thought of their unbelievably strong yet socially unfamiliar angel friend falling, imagining him clutching his wings only to be left with slightly burnt black feathers wrinkled in his fists, the tears that would form but not fall as he watched his brothers and sisters become humans, weak and fleeting, just plain, boring humans, so small compared to what they used to be.

\--

Castiel groaned as he lifted his head from the cold and damp ground, slowly pushing himself up with his arms. He shrugged his shoulders forward and arched his back, shaking off the dust from his wings to find out that he had no control over them anymore. He looked over his shoulder to see that he no longer had them at all, all he could see was an old and overused trench coat and the dirt on it.  
 _Metatron_ , Cas thought as an image of the scribe – God’s scribe – appeared in his head, with the gray hair and puffy red cheeks. The scribe that he believed, trusted, his accomplice in fixing Heaven who turned out to be an angel who wanted to shut it down for revenge. He watched the angel shower above his head, his family falling into lakes and in forests and streets. He breathed heavily and walked out of the field he was in to find a place to go. A place to live, to build a new life because he couldn’t face the Winchesters, not now. Not when Naomi, one of the higher-ups in Heaven whom Cas had cataloged as ‘enemy: not to be trusted’, told Dean that Metatron was planning a scheme against Heaven and he didn’t believe it despite Dean telling him otherwise. Because he made the mistake to not trust Dean. Again. Not so easy to face a friend after an I-told-you-so moment, especially not one as big as this.

So there he went, Castiel, an angel of the Lord, God’s warrior, a soldier, a recently-turned-human. He walked the streets for hours and hours, feeling his heels burning inside his shoes and his stomach grumbling for the first time in a long time.

\--

Cas woke up in a hospital room, tired and hungry and just disappointingly human. There was a nurse just about a foot or two away from his bed, her back facing him. Her ebony black shoulder-length hair was wavy and slightly messy and parted in the middle. She turned to leave the room, pausing at her tracks when she realized Castiel was awake.

“Hey there,” she smiled at him reassuringly. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Cas replied, crunching up his face in pain. “I’m fine. I’m quite famished, though.” The nurse, whom he later found out was named Marie, left after telling him that lunch would be served in a few minutes. Cas stayed in the hospital for a whole week, which gave him time to talk to Marie frequently enough for her to offer him a job at her brother’s diner. Cas said “Yes, I’d like to have the job,” as a reply and right after he got out of the hospital, he started working as a waiter.

\--

It had been eleven months since the angels’ fall. Eleven months since Cas last saw the Winchesters. Castiel couldn’t help but think that if he really was family to them, he would be there with Sam and Dean, saving people, hunting things, being Team Free Will. Some days, Cas would make up situations in his head. He would imagine being there in the diner he worked in, not as a waiter but as a customer waiting for his cheeseburger with his two friends – no, _brothers_ – while they talked about the job they had in that city, what supernatural thing they were up against. He would imagine drinking beer and just sitting down on the sofa, watching television. That was what Castiel wanted, he thought as he splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom of the motel room he’d been living in the past months because he had no close friends who offered him shelter. He lifted his gray v-neck tee above his head and took it off, he turned around to see the two big slashes that took almost half of his back. It was where his wings had been, where they sprouted from when he was just a little angel. 

Cas sighed as he walked out of the bathroom, looking for clean clothes. He found a blue plaid long-sleeved button-front shirt and put it on, contemplating on rolling them up because it was hot that day, but he looked at the bandages all over his arms and thought, _Better not_.

\--

Sixteen months.

It took sixteen months for Castiel to see Sam and Dean again.

He was working in the diner as usual, asking people what their orders were and giving them change, when the two brothers walked in. They looked the same, better even; Sam with his hair reaching the middle of his neck, no longer with the worried look and sad tormented puppy eyes and evident lack of sleep showing on his face; Dean with his light ash brown hair cropped at the sides and spiky at the top, smiling the way Cas hadn’t seen him smile for years.

Sam and Dean were engrossed in a conversation as they walked to the bar of the diner, Dean only looking away once to check the menu. Castiel was observing them from the kitchen, afraid of what his old friends would say about how he was now: Castiel, a mighty soldier-turned-frustrated diner server.

“And what will the couple have?” A woman, probably in her mid-40’s, with shoulder-length dark blonde hair asked, smiling at them in a way that reminded the Winchesters of their mother.

“Couple?” Dean looked at Sam and pretended to choke on his laugh. “No, no, you’ve got it wrong. We’re brothers,” Dean gave a slight smile to the lady, and she nodded and smiled and gave a quiet ‘Okay.’

“Yeah, and even if we weren’t brothers, we still wouldn’t be a couple. Other than his whole being an asshole thing, Dean is still mourning over a break-up of some sorts. I’m not attracted to people like that,” Sam said coolly and then burst into a fit of laughter when Dean slapped him on his arm and muttered a “Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam smiled and then looked at the diner lady. “I’ll have a Caesar salad. Dean?”

“I’ll have a double cheeseburger.”

“A’right, Cassie will be serving you two in a while!” Dean’s eyes grew wide at the sound of the name for less than half a second before Dean shook his head. “Oh, and be nice to him. You don’t know how many people come here askin’ him about the scars on his arms. Just ‘cause he’s decent enough to smile at those kids tryin’ to ridicule him, doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to throw a mean punch.” The girl clapped her hands together and smiled then walked away to the kitchen. Sam looked at the girl and then at Dean whose eyebrows were furrowed and lips formed into a frown.

“Dean, look, I know it’s hard for you, for the both of us, but you gotta move on, man. It’s been over a year and—”

“That’s exactly it, Sam!” Dean raised his voice at Sam, gathering a few odd looks from other customers. “It’s been over a friggin’ _year_ and he didn’t even bother giving us a call? Did he find something better that fast?” Dean’s scrunched up face turned into a sorrowful one. “Or – _or_ – what if he’s dead, Sammy, what if he died and we didn’t even get to give him a proper funeral? What kind of friends are we then, huh? What kind of—”

“Dean, I’m not dead,” The Winchesters quickly turned their heads to see Castiel, who looked exactly the same – disheveled hair and deep blue eyes – save for his outfit. He no longer wore his trench coat or his suit, he was now wearing a white polo shirt, and blue pants, the diner’s uniform. “I have attempted to kill myself but you always came to mind. Possibly seeing the two of you in the future was my motivation, Dean, and now that I have saved enough money to go to therapy, I assure you, I won’t be dead any time soon.”

“Cas,” Sam and Dean said in unison, worry apparent in their eyes. The concern was only lessened a little when Castiel mouthed an “I’m fine.” and placed their food down on the counter to walk to them.

“Damn, Cas, missed you,” Dean spoke against Cas’ hair, almost-tears forming in his eyes. Cas whispered an “I missed you, too, Dean.” as he patted Dean’s back thrice. Sam looked at Cas and Cas smiled at him shyly.

“Oh, man, c’mere, Cas.” Sam wrapped his long arms around Castiel’s body and breathed a laugh.

“It’s gonna be okay.” And for the first time in a long time, the words Dean uttered felt true. It didn’t feel like an empty promise or an I-don’t-actually-care-if-things-get-better-or-not-it’s-just-customary-to-say-this kind of thing. In Sam and Dean’s presence he felt safe. He felt like, yeah, maybe everything will be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of ill-written, I tried to make it more angst-y, but it didn't turn out very well. The ending is also very weak. I apologize.


End file.
